The Vendetta's Vestige
by Sahrah Marmlade-Leonhart
Summary: Movieverse Evey begins rebuilding her own life by finishing V's masterpiece as it was intended to be. The vestige is what remains after everything else is gone. It is the proof that something was here. Evey is his past. His future. His vestige. Oneshot.


Sahrah: HAHA I ALMOST FORGOT HOW TO SUBMIT A FANFIC. Not really. Well, if you've never read my work before... Hello! My name is Sahrah! And if you have, I know, this is a crazy deviation from my normal path. This was actually a school assignment. We watched the movie **V for Vendetta **in my English class. Our assignment was to write a sequel, an alternate ending, or an epilogue. So I made an epilogue, which I like to call "The Vendetta's Vestige." So, without further ado... Oh, wait...

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING BUT ZE PRETTY WURDZ.

**The Vendetta's Vestige  
**

Evey Hammond wandered through the Shadow Gallery sluggishly, a mug of coffee in her hand, her tattered robe dragging on the floor behind her. She looked around through sleepy eyes.

"All of this is mine," she whispered, gazing at the once-forbidden paintings, the prohibited artifacts of happier times. "But I don't want any of it."

She raised a hand to brush back hair from her eyes, remembering at the last moment that she had none. That, just like him, was gone. Her heart throbbed when she thought of him. V. She had loved him. She still did.

With a sigh, she switched on the news and sat on the couch, curled into the corner of the cushions, watching the anchorman recount the events that had taken place three nights ago. The date on the calendar was November 8th. Three days after Parliament had exploded into flames, and two days after Norsefire fell, the High Chancellor and all of his men vanished. Of course, Evey knew the truth. They had not vanished. They had been killed in the name of V's vendetta. They had been killed because they were corrupt and evil.

Then, onto the screen came his face. The anchorman was talking about his surprising absence. Perhaps they would never know who V was, the man said.

Evey closed her eyes. A year ago, she would have cried. A year ago, she would have run away. But things were different now. _She _was different now. Stronger. She had cried when he told her how he loved her.

_"But I don't want you to die…!"_ she had choked out through her tears.

_"That's the most beautiful thing you could have ever given me."_ And then he was gone, and she banished her tears as she gave him the Viking funeral pyre he deserved. She had no tears left. She had cried so much in one year, and honestly didn't see how she could possibly cry one drop more.

Evey picked herself up and dressed for the day. She stayed away from the bedroom that had been his; even if he was dead, his privacy was something she had to respect. Aboveground, she was lost. Wandering the streets of London, she was nobody, she was nothing. She was not Evey Hammond, she was not a terrorist, she was not an accomplice to V. In the crowd of people, she was simply a person trying desperately to find her way through the shroud of doubt and confusion and sadness she felt.

Eventually she ended at the police station, where Eric Finch would be waiting for her. He had requested her presence, and she had complied, because she had nowhere else to go. She had no job, no residence (of course her flat had been apprehended by the Fingermen) and no family. All she had now was the Shadow Gallery… and Eric Finch.

"Good morning…" she called out, loudly above the din of frenzied relief workers. Since the fall of the Norsefire government, the trusted men working for Finch had become the only order in anarchy. V's anarchy. The world he'd created for Evey and Finch and everyone else who lived in it.

"Evey Hammond? In here, come on!" responded Finch from inside an office.

"Good day, Mr. Finch," said the young woman, nodding towards her former adversary.

"Good morning, Evey."

"Why am I here?" she asked rudely, hopping right to the point.

"I need your help."

"Well I can see that. Why else would I be here?"

Eric nodded at her. "Sit down." Evey stepped forward and sat down in the plush chair in front of the desk. "Before you say anything, please listen everything I have to tell you and think about your response."

"How do you mean?" she frowned.

"The surviving Fingermen that remained loyal to Creedy have gone underground. They are attacking innocent people. Meanwhile, the entire country is in a state of chaos. Without some kind of order, everyone's going mad."

Evey tilted her shaved head. "What do you need me to do?"

"Help us shape the future, Evey. You're the only one who knows what it's supposed to look like."

**One Year Later- 11:58 PM, November 4th**

It was dark, as it often is in the dead of night, especially in an underground gallery of forgotten art. Evey was fast asleep, clutching the folds of her sheets, sighing softly into her pillow. Her shoulder length hair was splayed over the spread, and somewhere in the Shadow Gallery a shadow was walking about.

"Evey."Her eyes snapped open and she whirled around in bed, clutching one of V's knives that she kept under the pillow and pointing it at the source of the mysterious voice. Then she saw him. Her eyes widened, but she didn't drop the blade.

"You…"

"Fondest greetings, dear Evey," he whispered, bowing slightly.

"V."

Indeed it was V, standing in the shadows, the Guy Fawkes mask grinning eerily in the darkness. A year ago, she would have leaped into him, embraced him, and said his name over and over. Now everything was different—_Evey_ was different, not just due to her time in the fake jail, but because of the year of politics. A year spent shaping the future with her own two hands. A year of silencing rebels factions, raising money for homeless shelters, forming a new type of government and instating it fairly, and rebuilding the things that had been destroyed by Norsefire.

"You do not seem so surprised to see me," the masked man said.

"Nothing surprises me anymore," Evey told him. "Especially not you."

"And why is that?" V cocked his head to the side.

"Because God doesn't roll dice, just like you said. I think maybe… this is what I was meant to do. I found you because I'm supposed to finish your masterpiece. I think… I am meant to be what's left over of you."

"The vestige," he told her, and Evey knew that he was smiling under his mask. "A remnant. The remains. The proof that I existed."

She smiled and lowered the knife, sliding it back into place. "You're not really here, are you?"

He shook his head. "I am so proud of all that you've become, my dear."

"I love you, V…"

"And I love you. But it's time to wake up."

"huh…?"

"EVEY! WAKE UP!" screamed a male voice, this one different. Evey shot out of the hotel bed, glaring at the door. Eric Finch was knocking, trying to hurry V's former protégée along so she could meet with the United Nations. Today was the day England would finally rejoin the rest of the free world.

"I'm coming, hold on a bloody minute, will you?" the young woman cried, hopping about, pulling on her slacks and brushing her short hair simultaneously.

"Hurry it up; I imagine we'd best be back before the November Fifth celebration, don't you think?"

"Probably. I'd like to see the fireworks," Evey responded smoothly, opening the door and smiling at Eric. "Shall we be off then?"

"What took you so long?" he asked as they walked towards the elevators together.

"I was dreaming…" she answered, her eyes bright with happiness. "It was such a lovely dream. I dreamed V was alive. He said I was his vestige."

The inspector looked at her. "What is a vestige?"

"A vestige is when the ground is wet after it rains. It's when you leave footprints in the mud. It's when something is broken and all that's left is the foundation," Evey explained, pressing the button for the lift. "A vestige is the remainder, the trace of evidence that suggests something happened."

"Why d'you think he called you that?" Eric wondered out loud as the machine buzzed to life and the elevator began moving to the ground floor. The young woman only laughed in response. "What's so funny?"

Evey smiled. "Do you know why I put so much effort into today?"

"A year ago today, you blew up Parliament and helped V liberate England from Norsefire."

"It's also the anniversary of the day Guy Fawkes tried to blow up Parliament… and the day V and I first met… and the day he escaped from Larkhill… "

Eric nodded sheepishly, remembering the diary he'd shared with Evey. "That's right… I almost forgot."

"I never will. That's why he called me the vestige."

**End**

Sahrah: I hope you liked it, I've never written V for Vendetta before, so I might be a little... I dunno... clunky with the characters... please let me know what you think!


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